Winding it Up
by IrisBaggins
Summary: [Parent!Lock] Right before the Reichenbach case, Sherlock is surprised by the visit of an eight-year old boy, Hamish, who just happens to be his son. He's there for no reason other than to turn Sherlock's and John's life upside down, and maybe get the two of them to discuss some unsolved business. This is the first part of a story that goes untill Hamish's adulthood.
1. Chapter I

**The Arrival**

John, there's someone I want you to meet. SH

18:14

Alright. And who would that be? JW

18:14

My son. SH

18:15

Pardon? JW

18:15

Yes, that's exactly what I said. My son. SH

18:15

I didn't know you had a son. JW

18:16

Neither did I. I just found out. SH

18:16

How, exactly? JW

18:16

His mother's best friend just came in

here with him. At first I thought they

were clients, but then she explained

everything. SH

18:17

And what would "everything" mean? JW

18:17

His name is Hamish, he is 8 years

old and his mother recently died

in a car accident. Drinking and

driving, possibly.

SH

18:19

Hamish. Okay. And how

does her best friend know you're the boy's

father? JW

18:20

She says she remembers me, from

9 years ago, and recognized me from

the papers. I wouldn't disagree with

her, the little bastard looks exactly

like me. SH

18:20

So what now? Are we moving a kid

into the flat? JW

18:20

Well, yes. He doesn't cause too much

trouble. He refuses to talk to me anyway.

He's currently walking around the flat

messing with everything he sees.

I hope he doesn't open the fridge. SH

18:22

Update: he opened the fridge. His first words

to me were "Are you a serial killer?" I'm resisting

the urge to say "yes" just to see his reaction. SH

18:27

Don't. JW

18:17

I told him I was a serial killer. He

smiled and said "Cool!". I like him. SH

18:27

Well he is definately your kid. I'll be

home in a few minutes. JW

18:28

I don't want to be a father, John, it

takes time, patience and money. SH

18:28

You have time, I have patience, and your brother

has money. By the way, does he know about the

kid? JW

18:29

Oh, I almost forgot about him. He will

love the news. SH

18:29

Update: He asked me who I was texting,

I said "John" and he asked me if you were

my husband. Great. SH

18:19

Tell him we're just flatmates. JW

18:30

That's what I just did. Are you getting home? SH

18:30

"Yes I am." John said opening the door to the flat.

"John!" Sherlock stood up "Hamish, come here, please. This is my flatmate, John Hamish Watson." The boy raised an eyebrow and waved at him, without a word. Sherlock leaned closer to John and mumbled "Deal with this, you're better." John sighed. "That's very delicate of you, Sherlock." He then turned to the little boy and shook his hand "Nice to meet you, Hamish. You look exactly like your father." It was true. He had Sherlock's eyes and cheekbones. Hamish didn't even try to shake John's hand, his hand was instead, completely loose. John didn't pay much attention. He kneeled down to get to the same height as the kid. "I'm sorry about your mom. We will do our best to make you feel at home here." After hearing that, Hamish gave a small smile and unnexpectedly walked closer to John and hugged him, crying. Sherlock raised his eyebrows. John only smiled at him, still holding the boy. "Shhh, it's okay, it's going to be okay." That was the only thing John could say to comfort the kid. "Thank you, John." Hamish smiled. After that hug he seemed to feel better. At least good enough to continue walking around the flat while John prepared the dinner.

"You're not a serial killer." was the next thing Sherlock heard from Hamish, a couple of hours later. He was reading the newspaper. "You're a detective." He said smiling.

"Yes, I'm a consulting detective." Sherlock said, and contempled Hamish's confused face. "It means that when the police doesn't know what to do, they ask me." Hamish shrugged. "is John a detective too? He's in the picture with you."

"No, actually, he's an army doctor, but sometimes he works as my assistant."

"Neat." Hamish stood up to look at Sherlock's bookshelf, taking a book or two from it.

"Do you enjoy reading?" Sherlock asked, watching his son.

"Do you enjoy breathing?" Hamish replied with irony. They heard John giggling from the kitchen. Sherlock then turns to him "I'm so proud" he said with a smile. Hamish smiled too. These guys weren't bad, after all.

After dinner, the three of them were watching the telly.

"I'm tired." Hamish yawned "Where will I sleep?" Sherlock and John stared at eachother. There were only two bedrooms, both being used. "You can have my bedroom. I will sleep on the sofa today" John answered.

"Wait, you don't sleep in the same bedroom?" The kid raised an eyebrow. John cleaned his throat and blushed in embarassment "No, we don't. We're not together or anything, we just share the flat. Just friends." He replied with a small frown on his face.

"Yeah, right" Hamish giggled. Sherlock looked at John, confused.

"For an eight year old you're pretty sarcastic, huh?" John replied.

"Goodnight John. Goodnight, Sherlock." Hamish left the room and walked upstairs to John's bedroom.

"Don't forget to take a shower and brush your teeth." John said looking as Hamish left. "Sherlock, where's Mrs. Hudson? She should be home by now."

"Don't know. Probably at Speedy's" he replied.

"So, are you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"What happened 9 years ago. I thought you were-"

"I know just as much as you do. I don't remember anything like that. Not a face, not a name, anything. The only thing I remeber is waking up somewhere strange and saying out loud "note to self: Never use drugs in public places again." His mom had drinking problems, I was on drugs, there is nothing to talk about."

"Okay, then." John shrugged. Sherlock stood up "goodnight, John" he left to his bedroom, while John let himself lay on the sofa. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but soon enough John also fell asleep.

* * *

Author's note: The next chapters will be posted soon, once in each 2 days. I hope you enjoyed the first one, and don't forget to leave a review!


	2. Chapter II

**Make Your Father Proud**

Author's note: This chapter is a bit longer than the first one, but it shows a bit more of Hamish and how he interacts with people. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Living in Baker street wasn't as bad ad Hamish thought it would be. Of course Sherlock wasn't an exceptionally friendly father. But after all, just as Hamish, Sherlock was also getting used to it. The little boy had a simple routine, which his babysitter had previously given to Sherlock. He would wake up in the morning, go to school, do whatever he's told, even if he had to pretend to care about things that in fact he didn't. He wasn't old enough to decide what's important to him or not, he just tried to stay out of trouble. It was quite hard. One day of course, he got home from school with his face completely soaked in tears.

"How was school?" John asked without looking at his face. Only when he did look, he realised how stupid was his question. "Hey, Hamish, come here, tell me what's going on." He stood up from the chair he was sitting on. Hamish just stood there looking at John.

"It's nothing, really." He wasn't exactly good at lying.

"Hey, hey, come here" John walked up to him and took his hand. "Do you want some water?" John led him to the kitchen. Hamish just nodded and followed him.

After drinking some water, the kid was calm. Or at least a bit less nervous.

"The boys in school are making fun of me." He started talking.

"What, why?" John asked. Before Hamish could say anything, Sherlock came into the flat.

"John, I solved the case, it was the- What's going on?"

"Hamish is having some trouble at school, that's all."

"Oh." Sherlock walked up to his son. "Did they beat you up or something?" Hamish shook his head. "They're laughing at me."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure. It might be because I have no friends, or because I'm skinny, or because I'm short, I don't know. Could be anything."

"Therefore nothing." Sherlock smiled. Not because he thought that was a good thing, but because it reminded him of school when Sherlock himself was a kid. Same kind of trouble, but with a little more physical violence.

John looked confused at his flatmate. "Why are you smiling? Do you think this is funny? Because I don't think so."

"Not at all. I was just thinking I could help him with that." Sherlock hung his coat by the door.

"No. Please don't. If you go to my school and complain to my teachers, it will just get worse." Hamish protested.

"I know that. I'm not stupid. I had the same problem when I was your age, maybe a little younger. I only got to stop it when I was 16 made the Rugby team captain cry, by deducing his whole life. He left me alone after that."

"So you're saying I should fight back?"

"I'm _saying_ you shouldn't care, because they're doing that to fill a hole in their lives."

John looked directly at Sherlock "They're eight years old, Sherlock, not serial killers."

"Kids can be cruel." He answered and turned to Hamish again. "But yes, I'm saying you should fight back. You're a smart kid. You can deal with that. The sooner you deal with your problems, the better."

"Yeah, but I'm not a detective like you. I can't deduce them." Hamish crossed his arms "And even you couldn't, when you were my age. Like you said, you were sixteen when you did that. I can't wait 8 more years."

"He's right, you know." John added.

"I know. But when I was 8, I didn't have "Sherlock Holmes, the only and best consulting detective in the world" To teach me deduce things." Sherlock said proudly of himself.

Hamish smiled and jumped. "Great! I'm going to be a detective, just like you." He ran up to Sherlock and hugged him. That took him by surprise.

"Thank you, dad." Hamish sighed, and Sherlock and John stared at eachother in surpise, and Sherlock smiled. That was the first time Hamish had called him dad.

"And thank you too, John." Hamish smiled at John, but didn't let go of Sherlock. The man picked him up and held him. "Don't listen to them, alright? They're jealous because you're a genius."

The next day, at school, Hamish started observing the boy who made fun of him. He found out that it wasn't that hard, you just had to pay attention and try to guess what the things he was seeing meant. And that wasn't exactly hard to do. He thought it was amazing how many things people would see, if they only looked.

"Look, it's Hamish!" The voice came from behind him, and he knew what he was about to say. "Are you feeling better today, crying baby?"

"Clarence, Stop." Hamish turned around and looked at the boy fearless.

"And what are you going to do? Hit me?"

"No." He said. A small, thin guy like him couldn't possibly beat a boy like that. "But just because your father beats you, it doesn't mean you can take it out on me."

"What are you talking about, idiot?" Clarence frowned, and it was easy to see he was furious.

"The bruises in your arms. I assumed someone could be beating you at home. It could be your mom, but I saw her in front of the school with you, and she had these bruises too. Look, it's fine, but you should talk to someone about this instead of bullying me." Clarence walked closer to him, causing Hamish to walk backwards in fear. "What are you, now? Sherlock Holmes?" Clarence raised an eyebrow and looked at the other boys in the class.

"No. His son." Hamish said, proud, and left. Clarence ran up to him and lifted his clenched fist, as if to punch the smaller boy in the face. But was stopped by the hand of a teacher. "Don't. You come with me." The tall young woman took Clarence by the wrist, right where the dark bruises were found. "And Hamish… Next time, you come with me too." Hamish could only nod at his teacher and leave.

In the same day, at break, the little boy was of course sitting alone, eating, when Clarence showed up.

"Hey." The older boy nodded at him. Hamish looked at him suspiciously.

"What do you want?" He said, rather concentrated on his food.

"Nothing, I just-" Clarence looked around, as if checking that no one could see him. "Can I sit with you?"

"Umm, I suppose." Hamish nodded and Clarence sat by his side.

"Look, you were right."

"About your dad?"

"No! I mean, yes, that too, but... I mean, that's no reason for me to make you feel bad."

"Hm." Hamish chewed on his apple.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He said with his mouth full, then lifted the apple in Clarence's direction, offering him.

"Nah, I'm fine. Sandwich?" He opened his lunchbag. Hamish shook his head. "I like how you deduced... you know. But I don't think your father is really Sherlock Holmes. My mum reads John's blog every day and never once mentioned a kid." He started eating his sandwich.

"It's a bit of a recent thing. I used to live with my mother untill two days ago."

"Oh. What happened?"

"She died and I had to go look for my real dad. Which turned out to be Sherlock Holmes."

"You're lucky. I mean... sorry about your mum."

"It's fine. I mean, it's not exactly fine, but I'm going to be fine."

"I hope so." He gave a smile and Hamish smiled back. "Hey, um... Not that I've watched one of your classes, but one day I was passing by your classroom door and I saw you saying some pretty interesting stuff, the teacher was impressed. How did you know all that about pollination?"

"I uh... My grandparents used to send my mom some books in hope that she would study more. Didn't work that much, but I read at least half of them."

"So you know lots of stuff."

"I have approximate knowlege of many things."

"Like... cars? I don't know, I like cars."

"Hmmm." Hamish looked up, trying to catch information from his head. "Did you know it would take less than six months to get to the moon by car at 95 kilometres per hours?" He said.

"Wow." Clarence gave half a smile. "I bet you know more about the solar system than your dad, though. Did you know he didn't even know that the Earth goes around the Sun?"

"What, really?" Hamish said and laughed. "You're kidding."

"I'm not!" Clarence giggled. "It's on John's blog!" They both laughed a bit and then Clarence sighed. "It must be nice to live with a genius.

"Well, I wouldn't know, I'm only there for two days..."

"Just wait. Something dangerous is going to happen soon."

"Nice."

"You like danger?"

"I don't know, I never had any in my life. I mean, I did come close to starving once, but-"

"No, I mean the kind of stuff your dad works with. Like murder."

"Well, no, I don't like murder... I mean, I wouldn't kill anybody and wouldn't be fond of being the victim either, but seeing my dad investigating something might be fun. I guess-" They were interrupted by the bell. "Sorry. Got to go."

"See you!"

In that day, Hamish got home smiling, not crying. Sherlock was the first to greet him.

"How was school?" He asked him with a smile.

"You were right. All I had to do was observe"

"And what did you see?" Sherlock asked. He usually wouldnt be so interested in someone's life. But it was his son.

"Bruises on his arms. and wrists. His dad beats him."

"Couldn't it be his mother?" He challanged the boy.

"Clarence's mother takes him to school everyday. I saw her. She had the same bruises."

"Fantastic. I mean, poor thing. But you're smart. What did you say?"

"I said just because his dad beats him it doesn't mean he can take it out on me."

"Great.. Fantast-" Sherlock was interrupted by John running into the flat. "I can't find Mrs. Hudson anywhere. She's not at Speedy's, not anywhere else. I've been looking for her everywhere since Hamish got here, 2 days ago."

"Who's Mrs. Hudson?" Hamish asked, more curious than concerned.

"Our landlady." Sherlock replied "Well then, what are we waiting for? Let's go looking for her. Now!" He stood up and grabbed his coat and scarf. Hamish walked towards the door.

"Hamish, this can be dangerous. We can't let you go with us." John said and then stared at Sherlock "Sherlock, we can't let any of your "enemies" know we have a kid in the flat." He whispered, but Hamish heard.

"You have enemies?"

"Yes. Arch-enemies. And I only have two, yet." Sherlock replied quickly

"Neat. Like a superhero!" Hamish added.

"No, I'm not a superhero."

"I want to go with you!" Hamish crossed his arms.

"Hamish, I told you, this can be dangerous." John didn't open the door.

"Yes! Exactly! I want to have an adventure. Plus, I've never seen my dad working."

"I'll take you to work tomorrow, today we don't even know what we're dealing with."

"Sherlock, do you think this could be Moriarty?" John said quietly.

"It might be. Let's go to Scotland Yard first."

"If you go, I'll follow you. And you can't lock me up in the flat. And I doubt you'd have a nanny to take care of me."

John sighed. "Fine. You come with us. But you don't let go of Sherlock's hand, you hear me?" Hamish nodded and took his father's hand.

"Let's go." Sherlock opened the door.


	3. Chapter III

**Take Our Daughters and Sons to Work Day**

Scotland Yard surely was no place for kids. But what could they do if Hamish refused to stay home?

When Sherlock, John and Hamish finally made their way to Scotland Yard, they couldn't help but notice the look on peoples eyes. That's when John remembered: none of them knew about the kid.

"Hello, freak, John," Sally Donovan was the first to greet them.

"Ah, Sally, always so kind." He rolled his eyes.

"And who's this boy?" She asked smiling at Hamish. Sherlock didn't care to answer, so, as usual, John did.

"This is Hamish. Sherlock's son."

"I didn't know you had a son." She said surprised at Sherlock. He heard Anderson's voice from behind him.

"Did I hear it right? Sherlock Holmes has a kid?" He asked. "Poor little guy."

"Anderson, please, do London a favour and shut up." Sherlock answered. "Now where is Lestrade?"

"In his office." Sally answered and left with Anderson.

John knocked on Lestrade's door.

"Greg? Mrs. Hudson is missing."

"Who?" He raised an eyebrow as he quickly took his feet off the desk and put down his coffee.

"My landlady." Sherlock answered, walking into the office. "She's gone for two days now, we can't find her anywhere."

"Two days? An old lady? You should've reported early." He asked cleaning the dirt from the desk with his hands and taking his cup of coffee again.

"We've been busy." John shrugged, then realized how Sherlock-like was this phrase.

"It's been a week you two don't have a case. What could you possibly be busy with?" He leaned forward.

"Taking care of Hamish."

"Who?"

"This little guy." John pointed at Hamish, who was still holding his father's hand. "He is... Sherlock's son."

"Pardon?" He nearly spat the coffee all over his desk.

"You heard right. Hamish is my son." Sherlock rolled his eyes

"Your son? Since when do you have a son?"

"Since two days, nineteen hours and twenty-five minutes ago." Sherlock said with the most serious face.

"Well they grow up fast, don't they?" Lestrade joked and stood up to shake Hamish's hand.

"Nice to meet you, Hamish. I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade." He smiled with the corner of his mouth. Hamish didn't answer. "But you can call me Greg." The boy still kept his mouth shut.

"Does he ever talk?" Greg looked at Sherlock.

"He's shy. It took him a while to start talking to me, too. Not John, apparently John seems more friendly than me." He answered.

"You don't say!" Lestrade said with sarcasm.

"Will you help us find Mrs. Hudson or not?" Sherlock said impatient. He couldn't help but think if she was alright. He remembered last time someone harmed her, the burglar "fell" out of the window. Repeatedly.

"Does she have a phone? I'll have one of our officers track her down."

Before any of them could answer, Hamish did.

"If she was kidnapped from home, she wouldn't have time to take her phone with her."

Sherlock smiled. "Yes. Exactly. But there is no sign of a break in, our door is perfectly intact." He answered the boy, proving there was a lot more to teach him. What he didn't notice yet, was that when a surprise like Hamish came into his house, he was so stunned that he wasn't thinking as efficiently as he should.

"You didn't check the windows, though." Hamish crossed his arms, with a slight smile. The three older men raised they eyebrows in surprise. John messed the boy's hair.

"Hamish, you're a genius!" He said picking up the boy in his arms. There was a slight hint of jealousy in Sherlocks voice as he replied John's statement.

"Not really. Anyone could've thought of that." He said. Lestrade took the last sip of his coffee and spoke.

"Yeah, but you didn't." Greg gave half a smile.

"Fine. It doesn't matter. As he said, we didn't check the windows. As far as we know, they could be perfectly closed. Plus, if anyone took her from her bedroom, I would have heard her scream."

"Depends on wether or not you were home." John replied

"Or if she wasn't." Sherlock still tried to prove his point. "But then again, Mrs. Hudson barely goes to Speedy's, with her hip. Let alone somewhere she could be kidnapped without anyone seeing anything."

"Then what do you suggest?" Lestrade asked, walking back to his chair. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Let's go back to Baker Street and check the windows."

"Perfect. I'll get Anderson."

"Does it have to be Anderson?"

"Who else do you suggest?"

Sherlock didn't answer.

John opened the door. "What are we waiting for? Mrs. Hudson's life is at risk." The thought of that made Sherlock even angrier.

In less than half an hour, the whole team was at 221b. Sherlock was the first to walk into Mrs. Hudson's room, only to find Mrs. Hudson's phone by the bed, and the window perfectly close, with a note wrote on a post-it.

The little note read "Xoxo, Jim" on it. He slammed his clenched fist on the wall, and left the room shouting.

"Jim Moriarty has Mrs. Hudson!" He walked to the wall and grabbed Anderson by the collar of his shirt. "Anderson you're going to walk into that room now and when you get out of it you better have found a bloody digital print, do you hear me?" He said furiously and let go of Anderson, slightly pushing him towards the corridor.

Sherlock was shaking with anger. There was nothing he could do. He didn't know where Jim was, and even if he knew, he couldn't go there alone, or he would get killed. He was about to lose hope when he got a text.

St. Joseph's Boys School. Come get her. Xoxo Jim

14:42

"BATTERSEA PARK ROAD!" Sherlock screamed at Lestrade

"What?"

"Battersea Park Road. There is an abandoned Boys School there. Jim just texted me."

"Couldn't he be bluffing?" Anderson shouted from the bedroom.

"Shut up, Anderson. Jim Moriarty doesn't bluff. He's evil but he's not a liar."

"Well then what are we waiting for? Let's go!" Sally Donovan said walking towards the door.

"We're not taking the kid with us, It's too dangerous." Lestrade looked at Hamish.

"Well you can't leave me alone here." Hamish replied. The whole room stared at him. He realized most of them never heard him talk.

"Fine. Someone will have to stay here taking care of you." Lestrade replied.

"And who exactly do you expect to stay here?" John raised an eyebrow.

"Someone useless, someone who wont be needed in this mission." Lestrade looked up, thinking. Sherlock smiled and shouted.

"Aderson! We're going. You stay here and take care of Hamish." He smiled at Lestrade "Alright, we can go."


	4. Chapter IV

**Xoxo, Jim**

It took little more than thirty minutes to get to St. Joseph's Boys School. It was built in 1882 and moved to London Road during the second world war, leaving the original building abandoned since then.

"Wait." Sherlock stopped walking and looked back.

"What?" Lestrade asked.

"This is too easy. Jim wouldn't just let us go in. There are killers in the building around us, waiting for Jim to give them the order to shoot."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Yes, he did that the last time."

There was no way of stopping Jim without taking these guys down first, and that was no easy task, but the gunmen were outnumbered. There were at least six cops, plus Sally Donovan, Greg Lestrade, and, of course, the duo, Sherlock and John.

Not all of the Scotland Yard was used to being in such stressful situations, of course they _knew _how to use a gun, and Sally was a sergeant but as Sherlock reminded them all the time, they were, well… stupid. Jim was expecting them to get in. But he likes to show off, as always. Lestrade stepped back as he spoke.

"Alright. So we have to go back, find the gunmen, arrest them and go back here?"

"I'd rather kill them but sure, arrest them." Sherlock shrugged.

As always, Sherlock was right. They were hidden in the buildings and houses around them. It was almost impossible to arrest them, of course, they were too agile to put cuffs on; but so was Sherlock. He and one of the cops walked up to the third floor of the building just behind the school, where one of the killers was on the balcony. He walked closer to the killer, pointing the gun at his head, untill the gunman noticed his presence and turned around.

"Don't move. The police is outside right now. You can come with me, or you can have your brains blown up." Sherlock said with the most calm face ever. The man stood up and followed Sherlock downstairs, where Lestrade was waiting with another man, and Donovan, with another. After the three of the killers were on their way to the police station, Sherlock, John, Lestrade and two cops decided to walk in the school, while Donovan waited outside.

They stepped in the abandoned school. The walls were grey and dirty, the painting was peeling off, and whatever trace of happiness of young boys that ever was there was already eaten by the mould and the dust. Where once has been a place where you could hear the laughter of children and the talk of teachers, you could only hear the cries of dispair of the lady in her nightie.

"Sherlock, dear. I missed you. You look absolutely amazing today." Jim said looking at Sherlock up and down. "Did you find out how I left the note?" He was smiling, leaning against the chair Mrs. Hudson was tied to. There was panick in her face, and that couldn't make Sherlock angrier. He pointed his gun at Jim.

"Yes. The window was open, and then you closed it from outside. Let her go. Now."There was no way of hiding the rage in his face, still he tried.

"Oh-oh, Sherlock, I wouldn't do that if I were you." Jim laughed, but his face turned serious as he didn't see any red dots on anyone. He frowned and looked up and around.

"Oh, don't worry, we took care of your maggots." Sherlock hissed at Jim, still pointing his gun at him.

"Oh, well. I guess then I'll have to use my own gun." Jim pulled a pistol from his pocket, and before he could load it, everyone mimicked his action. Greg's hands were shaking a bit, but John was completely still and ready to shoot at any given moment.

"It's five against one, Jim." Sherlock walked forward "Now let her go."

Jim put down his gun and lifted his hands, surrendering. It was quite an unusual view, seeing Jim surrender, untill Sherlock saw that it _was_ his intention. To get the police's attention, of course, he would escape jail as soon as he got there, he probably had people working for him there. He untied the chair and pushed Mrs. Hudson towards the men.

"Are we done here?" Jim asked, still with a hint of cinism.

"Ye-" Lestrade started but was interrupted by John.

"No. We're not." John walked up to Jim, still pointing his gun at him, but instead of shooting, which he obviously would have preffered to do, he hit the gun on Moriarty's head, causing him to pass out. "Now we're done." He walked away and put his gun back into his pocket. Sherlock was holding Mrs. Hudson and saying something about how it would be alright, but yet he was paying attention to how John acted, and for a second a thought came through his mind. 'When Hamish grows up, he's going to be like John, I hope.' Not because he hit Moriarty's head with a gun, but the way he took Hamish in his arm the other day and told him it would be alright, and how he cared so much even thought he barely knew him… but caring wasn't an advantage… was it? Sherlock was too proud of being careless to admire John for his heart in that moment.

While Scotland Yard arrested Jim and threw him into the car's trunk, John and Sherlock took the crying lady to the hospital, where she would stay over the night. John and Sherlock decided to stay there with her for at least a couple of hours while she slept, untill they were sure she would be alright.

"Sherlock, we can't do this anymore." John sighed,

"Do what?"

"This, Sherlock. The whole being famous thing. Look at what is happening. It's caused nothing but trouble. And now we have a bloody kid living in the flat. Do you know what happens if Jim finds out about Hamish? Your son will be the next tied up in a chair, waiting to be shot. As if he's not traumatized enough. We can't have a kid in the flat. Do you realize how dangerous this is? For us, for him, for everyone."

"Are you saying we should get rid of the kid?"

"No."

"And do you think I asked for a son? Untill less than three days ago, I thought I never had relations with any woman."

"Yes, I know that, your brother mentioned it. But that was before the whole Irene thing, huh? I guess Hamish's mom wasn't the only one you shagged."  
"Irene? Are you stupid?" Sherlock asked, quite angry. "No, don't answer that question."

"I know what a retorical question is, Sherlock, thank you very much. And what I'm saying is exactly that I'm not stupid. I saw how you were when she faked her death. And I saw you when you found out she was alive. And she was naked, or at least at most times. I saw her, even an emotionless prick like you would want her. And in the end you found out she was into you."

"If you think I had any kind of relation with Miss Adler, you're stupid. I told you, the day we've met, girlfriend is not my area."

"And I believed you, before we found out you have a son, which you also don't want to explain."

"I don't remember anything. I don't know her name, or her face. I told you, I can't explain that to you because it was nine years ago and I was on drugs."

"Yes, drugs. Which you also never talk about. I don't even know if you're still using them. As far as I know I could find a stash anywhere in your room."

"I'm clean since I've met you, you know that."

"It's hard to believe you."

"Then why haven't you moved out?"  
"Pardon?"

"Since Hamish got here, you've been sleeping on the sofa. You pay your rent, John, you have the right to the bedroom, and yet, you'd rather sleep in an uncomfortable couch than leave. Why?"

John didn't answer. He just looked down and at Mrs. Hudson, as if waiting for her to wake up and interrupt the conversation. That would be a nice ending for a conversation. But it wasn't.

"I asked you a question John. And this one wasn't retorical. Why would you rather sleep in the sofa than leave Baker Street"

John still didn't respond.

"Fine. Whatever you want. You don't need to tell me anything, I'll find out."

"If you were going to find it out, You would have done it a year ago."

"Pardon?"  
"Nothing. Nevermind."

"No, tell me."

"I don't need to. As you said, you'll find out, right? Aren't you the smartest person on earth?"

"I never said that. And I figured it out. You just like taking care of the kid. He does seem to like you a lot. More than he likes me, at least."

"Are you jealous? Look, Hamish barely knows us. It's normal that he is more fond of the person who most pays attention to him. But sure, if you want me to move out, I will. Give me a day or two and I'll find somewhere else to live. Maybe if I do I might be able to get a girlfriend that doesn't dump me in the third date."

"John, you know that's not what I meant."

"Well, I think it is."

"You're wrong."

"Oh, am I? What a surprise." John left. "I'm going home. Anderson is still there with Hamish. Gotta go save the poor guy."

"Anderson? Why would you "save" Anderson?"

"I was talking about Hamish."

"Oh." Sherlock replied and they both giggled, but John frowned and left right after.

When John got to Baker Street, he found Anderson sitting by the desk, sleeping on his arm, and Hamish laying on the couch, also sleeping, with a book on his chest.

"Anderson?" He called. Anderson woke up in a second, but still sleepy.

"Yes?"

"I'm home now. Sorry we took so long, Mrs. Hudson was in the hospital, and we decided it would be the best to stay there with her. You should go back to work now, or home… It's getting dark already."

"Thank you. Finally." Anderson walked out of the room, with a frown. Hamish woke up scared with the sound of Anderson slamming the door. John smiled and sat by Hamish's side.

"So? How was it?" John asked, tiding Hamish's hair.

"He said Sherlock makes up the crimes to solve them and get famous."

"Oh, no, don't listen to Anderson. He and Sally think Sherlock is a serial killer because they're jealous of him. You might have noticed your father doesn't like him."

"That's fine, he doesn't like anyone. That is, except you." Hamish smiled and looked at John.

"Don't say that. Sherlock likes you."

"No, he likes himself. He just likes me because I look like him, and act like him sometimes. He doesn't really like me."

"I'm pretty sure he does. He's just not used to you yet. After all, you're here for three days and he didn't have much time to know you. But he likes you."

"If you say so…" Hamish shrugged. "Hey, can we have pizza for dinner today?" He changed the subject completely

"Sure." John said and opened his phone. There was a text from Sherlock.

John, I'm sorry. Don't move out, please. SH

18:45

Are you kidding? I'd rather die

than leave Baker Street. JW

18:45

Are you with Hamish right now? SH

18:46

Yes, we're having pizza for dinner. Are

you coming home? JW

18:46

I am. Mrs. Hudson is coming home tomorrow.

Can you stay and take care of her? I have to

Find out why did Moriarty kidnap her. SH

18:48

Actually, I can't. I've got a date. JW

18:49

A date? With whom? SH

18:49

Emily. You don't know her. She's

from the hospital. JW

18:50

Oh. I suppose I'll come back when Hamish

comes back from school. SH

18:51

Sherlock, It's saturday tomorrow. Hamish

doesn't have school. JW

18:52

Good for him. If I didn't go to school as

a kid, I would have had more time to study.

SH

18:52

John didn't reply. There wasn't really anything to say, untill Sherlock came home.

"John." Sherlock smiled as he opened the door to the flat. "Hello, Hamish."

"Hi dad." Hamish jumped out of the couch.

"So, how was it with Anderson?"

Hamish thought for a moment and decided it wasn't the best idea to talk about the whole he-thinks-you're-a-psychopath deal. So he just laughed and said:

"My God, he's stupid." Pretending to be his father was the best thing to do.

"Did he say anything about my experiments in the fridge? Did he tell you he thinks I'm a killer?"

"No." Hamish answered quickly. John raised an eyebrow, wondering why would Hamish lie.

"Weird. He likes to share his crazy theories."

"Maybe he didn't want to upset me."

"Yeah, maybe." Sherlock said, ending the conversation. There was an awkward silence for about five seconds, untill it was broken by John, as always.

"So, pizza?" He grabbed his phone quickly, and dialed the pizzeria number. Hamish sat on Sherlock's armchair, which made him quite uncomfortable, but not enough to make him ask Hamish to move.

After dinner, Sherlock claimed he was tired and went straight to his bedroom, while John and Hamish stayed in the living room, watching whatever was on the telly, but not really paying attention.

"Why did you lie?"

"What?"

"You lied when Sherlock asked if Anderson said something about him being a serial killer and all. Why?"

"I don't know. I thought it was better. Dad already hates Anderson, it's better if he doesn't know he tried to convince me he was a psychopath."

"You can't lie to Sherlock."

"And why is that?"

"Because he knows if you're lying. He is always observing everything, you just can't lie to him. He'll know"

"It didn't seem like he knew."

"He didn't want to discuss that or anything. But he noticed, I know that."

"How would you know?"

"He look at me and made the "We both know what's going on here" face. It's what he does when he deduces something, or finds out someone is lying."

"I swear, you two are like an old married couple."

"Pardon?"

"You know eachother so well, you share looks that can replace a whole conversation. You barely talk and yet you know all about eachother."

"I know nothing about him."

"That's not true. You know when he knows someone is lying just by the way he looks at you. You said it yourself."

"I mean, I know nothing about his life, his past. Nothing at all."

"Why don't you just ask him?"

"It just never comes up. I'm not going to suddenly go all "Hi Sherlock, I was wondering how was your life as a kid, did you have any friends, how's your relationship with your parents, why do you hate your brother, could you tell me about that?" That just doesn't happen."

"Brother? I have an uncle?"

"Yeah, Mycroft."

"His mom is one for weird names, huh?" Hamish and John giggled.

"Yeah. But I don't know anything about her, or his dad. But then again, Sherlock only knows about my sister. Not that they've met."

"Oh. My mom never really wanted to have kids. After I was born, she had to leave her parent's house and get a life of her own. It never really worked out. We ended up living in a small apartment, and I spend more time with my babysitter than with my mom. She was always working, drinking, or both." Hamish said like it was nothing. John didn't know how to respond to that.

"I'm sorry to hear that." He sighed "Do you miss her?"

"Sometimes. But I think…" He thought of a way of saying this without sounding mean. "I think it was for the best. I'm better now. I have people taking care of me. And my bedroom is bigger, and my house doesn't smell like alcohol and vomit." He said and tried to laugh at it, but it wasn't funny. He didn't miss her so much, but he did, and it hurt, and he was broken. John smiled with the corner of his mouth.

"I know how it is. My sister, Harriet, has a drinking problem, too. But I think she's trying to get better."

"Well, I hope she doesn't have a car." Hamish said, and John teared up, for a moment he thought, how hard it must be for a kid to suddently lose his mother and have to live with total strangers. And he thought of how hard it was for himself, to leave the army and go back to London, and live with a total stranger.

"You're a tough kid, Hamish."

"That's what Anderson said."

"Well, for once he's right." John laughed. But it wasn't funny. It was sad.

"So what are the plans for tomorrow?"

"I work unti five o'clock and then I'll be back home, and I'll leave at seven."

"You work on saturday?"

"Yeah. The hospital's gotta work on saturday too."

"And why are you leaving home at seven?"

"I've got a date."

"Oh." Hamish nodded "With a girl?"

"Yes, of course with a girl, why would you think that I-"

"Ay, Calm down, I was just asking."

"Sorry. It's just that everyone assumes-"

"I know."

"Why?"

"You're a single man living with another single man. This is enough to make people think there's something between you. Even I did, when I got here. But you see, Sherlock doesn't mind when someone assumes something like that."

"Yeah, he doesn't."

"But you do."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I'm trying to find someone. And I wont find anyone if everyone thinks I'm with Sherlock. Sherlock is not trying to find anyone."

"Yes he is."

"What?"

"Nothing. I'll go to sleep now." Hamish got up and walked towards the stairs

"Nope, tell me."

"Goodnight, John!" Hamish ran to his room before John could say anything else.

"Kids." John smiled and said to himself, laying on the couch, still thinking about what Hamish said.

* * *

Author's note: Don't miss the next chapter if you want to know what did Hamish and Anderson talked about while all this happened. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Don't forget to follow and leave a review :)


	5. Chapter IV And A Half

**Meanwhile, in 221b Baker Street…**

As the rest of the team left 221b, Hamish walked in Mrs. Hudson's bedroom.

"So you're going to take care of me for the next few hours."

"What?"Anderson turned to him.

"Didn't you hear? They left to look for Mrs. Hudson, and left you here to take care of me.

"How do they know where she is? Let me guess, Sherlock deduced it."

"No, he got a text from Jim Moriarty. Who is he, anyway?"

"Sherlock's arch-enemy. I don't know what he's up to. He's a serial killer and he does it for fun. Just like Sherlock."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, yes. You don't know that. I hate to break it to you, kid, but your dad is nothing but a liar. He makes up the crimes only to then "solve" them and get famous for it." Anderson took off his gloves and walked out of the room. Hamish followed him.

"That's not true." He said angrily.

"It's not? Haven't you noticed the body parts around the house?"

"These are his experiments. He studies them to help him solve the crimes."

"Whatever you say. If that's what you believe, fine. John believes him too."

"Yes, of course he does. John has been living with Sherlock for over a year. If my dad made the crimes, John would know."

"I suppose he would. Or he's helping him."

"This is the most stupid thing I've ever heard. Now I understand why Sherlock dislikes you." They started walking upstairs. Being friendly wasn't exactly easy for Hamish, but he was really trying. It was just incredibly hard to cope with such stupidity. How could anyone think something like that?

"You're just like him, aren't you?" Anderson asked, and Hamish wasn't sure if he did or didn't mean any offense.

"Not really. People keep saying I'm like him, I'm not."

"What do you mean?" They walked inside the living room and Hamish sat on the sofa.

"He loves deducing things. Being a detective, it's his job. It's what he does. I might be good at it, but it's not…" He tried to put his thoughts into words "It's not my thing."

Anderson didn't answer for a while. He didn't exactly understand what he was saying. He sat by John's desk. A couple of minutes after that, he spoke.

"And what is it?"

"What?"

"Your thing. If you're not a detective, what are you?"

"I don't know." He sighed and leaned backwards onto the couch, sitting in a rather lazy position. "I like fixing things. I like mechanics."

"Like cars?" Anderson still expected Hamish to be like other kids. Boys like cars, don't they?

"No, not cars."

"Then what?"

"Like clocks. But not just clocks." Hamish was now laying on the sofa. "Clocks, mechanical toys… Anything that's broken."

"It's very foolish of you to think anything broken can be fixed." Anderson said ironically, in a rather sad way. He was obviously not talking about clocks and mechanical toys.

"It's very pessimistic of you to think there are things that can't."

"I don't think there's anything wrong with being pessimistic." Anderson shrugged.

"We're not talking about clocks anymore, are we?"

"No."

"Is this about Sergeant Donovan?" Hamish raised an eyebrow

"It's none of your business. And don't say you found that out by yourself. Your dad must have told you."

"I saw the way she looks at you. And I was just trying to help. Chill." Hamish rolled his eyes and stood up to grab a book from the shelf. "She's expecting you to divorce your wife and go to her. But you don't want to do this, do you?"

"I said it's none of you business."

"Fine, whatever." Hamish laid on the sofa and started reading his book. It took him little less than ten minutes to lose interest in what he was reading and begin talking to Anderson again.

"I don't think you're useless."

"Pardon?"

"Dad says you're stupid and useless. I disagree."

"Well, thank you. May I ask why?"

"You're a specialist in what you do. That would be enough for them to need you."

"Still, your dad does my job better, and in seconds."

"Is that why you think Sherlock's is a psychopath? Because you can't accept that he's better than you?"

"Shut up."

"You say that my dad is the one making up the crimes, because that would be the only explanation for him analyzing things so quickly. But it's not. He does that because he's good at it. You created this stupid theory that my dad is a criminal, just so you don't feel useless like he makes you feel."

"I SAID SHUT UP!" Anderson slammed his hand on the table and shouted. "You don't know anything about me, or your dad. I've been working with Sherlock for years, and you met him less than a week ago. Don't try to play genius, kid, just like you said, you're not like your father. Your father is not like you think he is because he's a lie."

"Aye, calm down, will you? Hamish smiled and closed the book. "How about instead of being jealous and making up crazy theories, you don't observe him and learn from him?"

"Why do you believe in him so blindly? You've only met him. Is it because you never had a father and now that you have one, you must adore him like a god?"

"Aha! I knew you weren't stupid. You're trying to understand. See? You can never do your job like Sherlock, because you treat every evidence only as objects. You forget they come from people. Human beings, Anderson, they think, they feel, and every evidence left in a crime scene, are part of them. You're not stupid _and_ _useless_, Anderson. You're just stupid."

Anderson bit his bottom lip in anger, but before he could say anything, Hamish interrupted.

"Don't yell at me. Please. I'm really sensitive about yelling."

"You know, for an eight years old, you know a lot about people, including yourself. You must've had a tough life."

"I could tell you about it, but you'd lie and say you don't care."

"I really don't."

"I strongly disagree." Hamish yawned and grabbed his book again, as if to show they were done with this conversation.

"I still think your father is a psychopath. If he didn't make up crimes, one day he will."

"Fine."

Hamish read about half of his book before falling asleep on the couch, untill John got home from the hospital, a few hours later.


	6. Chapter V

**My life doesn't need any fixing.**

The next day, Mrs. Hudson came back from the hospital, and locked herself in her bedroom, with the windows closed. There was no way of taking her out of there, the poor woman.

John took a shower and got dressed for his date, which he wasn't very hopeful about anyway, but he wanted to go.

"Bye, Sherlock." John grabbed his coat. Sherlock didn't answer. He cleared his throat and frowned.

"Bye Hamish." He said, not insisting on saying goodbye to Sherlock.

"G'bye John." Hamish said without looking up from his book. John nodded and left the flat, closing the door behind him.

"Why didn't you answer John?" Hamish closed his book. Sherlock didn't answer, he just kept staring at the wall, but it didn't seem like he was looking at the wall, just in the general direction of the wall. He was more staring into the distance than at the wall itself

"Dad?" Hamish said and Sherlock turned to him, as if he just woke up

"Huh?"

"Why didn't you answer John?"

"Answer what? Where is John?"

"He just left. To his date. Do you always stare at the wall and disconnect yourself from outside or…"

"No, I was concentrating. I need to think."

"About…"

"Moriarty. Why did he kidnap Mrs. Hudson? It doesn't make any sense. He wouldn't do that if it wasn't for a good reason."

"Or maybe he would just want to provoke you."

"Excuse me?"

"Does he like to show off?"

"He likes to give me riddles. He wants to tell me something."

Hamish didn't answer. There was nothing to say. He didn't know Jim Moriarty, and he didn't want to.

"Dad, am I in danger?"

"What?"

"Jim Moriarty. He kidnapped Mrs. Hudson. He could kidnap me, too."

"I wont lie to you, Hamish. He will probably try to. But I wont let him."

"You wouldn't let him hurt Mrs. Hudson. And he did."

"Yes, because I wasn't there. Or wasn't listening."

"He could kidnap me just after school."

Sherlock took a deep breath and turned around, facing Hamish. "What do you want me to do? Ask my brother to buy you bodyguards?"

"Or just send someone to get me after school."

"I can't, John is working at the hospital at the time."

"I didn't say John. Just someone. Could be you, could be anyone."

"Fine. I'll think about that. But it's more probable that Jim doesn't know you exist."

"If he's just as smart as you are, he knows. Dad, I don't want anyone to know I might be in danger. They might take me away from here. And I don't want to leave you, or John."

Sherlock stopped for a while. He thought of how boring it would be without Hamish. The little guy has been here for four days, and yet, Sherlock was already used to him. Just like when John moved in. Things changed slightly, he could barely tell the difference, but he knew if John ever left, the world would be dull.

"I'll get you after school. Every day."

"Really?" Hamish smiled. "Thank you." Sherlock was still thinking if he could make it a routine, but it was worth it. He could get up every morning and walk to Hamish's school. He could do that. He was willing to do that.

"When is John coming back?"

"I don't know. He's on a date, if it goes out well, he'll get here very late, with the girl, even."

"That's not going to happen." Sherlock shrugged.

"Oh. And why is that?"

"This is the ninth girl John dates since he moved in here. It's not going to work out. They all break up with him as soon as they meet me."

"Why?"

"They're jealous. They always think there's something between me and John. If they observed a little more they would know that's just absurd."

"Oh. Yeah, John mentioned that."

"He did? He doesn't usually like to talk about that."

"Yes, but he did."

"Oh. Okay."

Hamish opened his book again but then closed it, uninterested. Sherlock sure had a lot of books, but not all of them were that interesting for Hamish.

"Dad?"

"Hm?"

"Have you dated anyone? Ever? And don't try to mention my mom because I know how everything happened."

"No."

"Oh. Why?"

"I find it quite dull. I have other things to think about."

"Like?"

"My work, Hamish. My work. Cases, Jim Moriarty, trying not to get too famous, figuring out what John is hiding from me, taking care of you, everything. There's no time or patience left to date anyone. Plus, I'm not interested in anyone."

"Yes you are."

"What?" At that time Sherlock already lost his thought on Jim Moriarty and decided to pay attention to what Hamish was saying.

"Nothing."

"Look, if John mentioned anything about The Woman-"

"Dad, please, anyone who sees the amount of product you put in your hair can be sure that there was no woman. Wait, there was a woman?"

"There is one woman, which I refer to as The Woman, but I haven't been envolved with her, if that's what you're asking. Anyway, then, who were you talking about?"

"You know who."

"No, I don't. Tell me."

Hamish sighed. "Nevermind." Hamish stood up to put the book back on the shelf.

"I think I'll have to re-organize my bookshelf again."

"Sorry."

"No, it's fine. It's good that you have the same interests in me. It makes it easier to know you."

"Yeah…" Hamish looked up the shelf, still trying to find something that's not about science.

"Unless of course, you're lying, which I know you are." Sherlock smiled at Hamish.

"Sorry." Hamish sighed "You're really good at this. John mentioned you know when someone's lying."

"What do you really like to do?" There was a pause untill Hamish gave in and started talking about himself, instead of trying to know about everyone else.

"I like to fix things. I like to disassemble things and know how they work, then put the pieces together again. Specially clocks, anything that works with gears."

"Not only things."

"Pardon?"

"You keep asking questions. You like to know about people's lives, and you want to fix them, am I right?"

"That's… one way to put it, yes." Hamish said staring at the window.

"Good. People sometimes need something like that. I'm afraid my life doesn't need any fixing, thank you very much. And neither does John's."

"Wrong."

"You've only known us for four days."

"If you can know all about someone's life by observing them for ten seconds, I can know about yours by observing you for four days."

"You're a kid."

"I'm _your_ kid."

"And what do you think you know about my life?"

"I know that you like to observe people and find answers to questions you don't want to ask. I know you hate being bored, almost as much as you hate your brother, who probably took care of you during your whole childhood because your parents didn't pay attention to you. I mean, your parents could be dead, but if they were there would be pictures of them around the flat, but there are none, which shows you care about them just as much as they care about you, which is, not at all. But your brother cares about you, doesn't he? But he doesn't drop by all the time, so he's a busy man. Not a detective like you, or he would be on the newspaper with you sometimes. The only thing I don't understand is why you hate him. Maybe there was a fight somewhere between your childhood and now?"

Sherlock smiled. He was angry that Hamish could be just as good as him, and he's only a kid, but he was proud. This kid is amazing, he thought, my son.

"Brilliant."

"Thank you."

"What about John?"

"There's nothing I know about him that you don't."

"If I ask you something about him, would you try to figure it out?"

"Sure."

"Why hasn't he moved out? He sleeps in the sofa, and he pays the rent. Why?"

"That's easy."

"Oh?"

"You fixed him. If he moves out, he's broken again."

"Explain."

"The walking stick. He used it before he moved in here, and now he doesn't anymore. And his leg is not hurt or anything, it's psychosomatic."

"How do you know that?"

"He told me." Hamish said and laughed. "If he moves out, he's broken, and so are you."

"Am I?"

"He's the only one that really admires your work. Everyone is pissed off when you deduce things, everyone. Anderson, Donovan, Lestrade… but not John. He thinks you're brilliant."

"Yes, I know. So what?"

"So, if he leaves, you go back to this world where everybody hates you. Everyone needs someone that likes them. Even someone who doesn't care about what people say. You need him, he needs you, and I need you both."

"You're right." Sherlock smiled and stood up, walking towards the kitchen. "Tea?"

"No, thank you. And I'm not done yet."

"Oh?"

"There's more to find out, and there's more to be fixed."

"It's very foolish of you to think you can fix everything."

"You know who said that? Anderson. And he's stupid."

"For once he's right, I think."

"If you can solve every case, I can fix every clock. And I have more time to do that than you do, I'm only eight."

"Who's going to fix you?" Sherlock mumbled, but Hamish didn't hear it. He put the kettle to boil and left the kitchen, with a smile. "You're smart. Really smart."

"You don't usually compliment anyone. Are you saying that because I'm your son?"

"No. I don't lie to people without a good reason. I really think you're smart."

"Thank you. I think you're brilliant. I also don't think you killed anyone, or ever will."

"Thank you."


	7. Chapter VI

**Apologise.**

John came back from the date quite soon, and opened the door to the flat with a look of disappointment.

"So, how was the date?" Hamish was sitting by Sherlock's side on the sofa. John opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Sherlock.

"No, don't tell us. Hamish, you can deduce that."

"How many dates has he had with her before?"

"This was the third."

"Ooooh, third date. This is serious business. Okay. You two went for a restaurant. But you, John, don't have money to pay for a meal in an expensive restaurant, so you convinced her to go somewhere cheaper, but still nice. If she's a nice woman, that wouldn't be a problem right?" Hamish looked at Sherlock as if to ask if he got it right. John lifted his finger as if about to say something, but was interrupted again.

"But!" Sherlock pointed. "You didn't eat before you left. You were hungry, so obviously you ate more than you could pay for, which caused you to have to share the bill with her, and-" Sherlock was interrupted by Hamish.

"And something tells me she wasn't exactly interested in you, now, was she? I mean, this was indeed a third date so there was something going on. What else could be a reason for her to dump you? We already talked about that."

Sherlock smiled at Hamish and continued "You left home angry because when you said goodbye to me I didn't answer, and you already weren't exactly in a good mood, probably because you found a foot on the microwave this morning and because you were already tired from work so-"

"So, you were angry and she wanted to talk to you, but not about why you're angry, and you ended up talking about me and Sherlock far too much and she got bored and left." Hamish looked at Sherlock. "Anything else?"

"No. You were amazing." Sherlock lifted his hand, requesting a high five, which Hamish gave him with a smile.

"Did we get it right?" Hamish smiled at John, who didn't smile back, or look back at all. He just hanged his coat and muttered "Yeah.", leaving the room right after.

"Dad… I think he's upset."

"Yes, of course he is."

"No, I mean… at us. I think that wasn't very nice."

"It wasn't?"

"No. Not at all. God, we shouldn't have done that. You should talk to him."

"Me? Why me? You're better with the talking to people and fixing things."

"Well, yeah, but I'm not… well, you. If someone is going to talk to him about this, it's you. I like fixing things but sometimes the machine's gotta work by itself."

"Wait a minute." Sherlock closed his eyes to think. "No, Hamish, I know where you're getting with this."

"Oh, you do?"

"Yes, it's what about what we talked when John left. And let me tell you, it's not going to happen."

"Yes, it is. It has to."

"No, Hamish, it doesn't have to. And it will not, for simple reasons."

"Oh? What are the reasons?"

"It's none of your business."

"I'm trying to help here."

"Well, I don't need your help. As I said, my life doesn't need any fixing."

"Fine, then. But you're still going to talk to him."

"Of course I am." Sherlock replied, and as if the conversation never happened, he did not stand up to go talk to John. After a few seconds, he spoke again. "How do I talk to him?"

"Aha! I knew you needed my help. Well, you could start by saying you're sorry."

"But I'm not sorry." He lied.

Hamish sighed. "I know, but you have to say it anyway. I've been told you're a very good liar."

"Fine. Go to sleep, I'll talk to him."

"But I'm not sleepy."

"And I'm not sorry about John's date, but sometimes you have to do what you have to do. Now brush your teeth and go to sleep, don't make me say it again." He said. If John hadn't ordered Hamish to brush his teeth in the first day, Sherlock probably would have forgotten that that is something you need to remind a kid to do.

"Fine." Hamish rolled his eyes and ran to his room, not that he would really sleep, he would probably read something or wind up his clocks, anything else.

The next day, Hamish woke up quite early, or at least before Sherlock and John. He walked to the kitchen silently, expecting to find John sleeping on the sofa, as always, but he didn't. Hamish muttered to himself. "Maybe he woke up already and left." But then he looked to the coat hanger by the door. John's coat was still there. Hamish proceeded to try to deduce this, still talking to himself. "London is too cold today for anyone to leave without their coat. The kitchen is perfectly clean, so he didn't eat yet. But he always eats in the morning so...ah. Of course. John is still sleeping. But not on the couch, obviously. And not in his bedroom because there's where I sleep, so where- Oh. Oh!" He covered his mouth with his hand and laughed quietly, walking to the kitchen again, to make himself some tea, still grinning. After drinking his tea, he reached to John's coat by the hanger and took the phone in it's pocket. He flipped open the phone and send a text to Sherlock's number.

I guess then he accepted your apologies? HH

08:15

Shut up. SH

08:17

Is he still sleeping? HH

08:17

Yes. SH

08:18

So, what did you say? HH

08:18

The truth. SH

08:19

And what did he say? HH

08:19

Also the truth. SH

Well that's specific. HH

08:21

"I don't need to be any more specific." Sherlock answered as he walked in the room. "So? How did you deduce it?"

"Oh, that was quite easy. The sofa was empty."

"He could've woken up and left."

"His coat is right there." He pointed at the hanger. "There's no way he could've left without his coat. It's really cold outside."

"Good, good." Sherlock smiled at Hamish.

"You were wrong."

"About?"

"It's not going to happen, ever."

"Alright, I was wrong about that"

"And that you didn't need my help"

"I didn't… need your help, but it was quite useful. I could have done it by myself."

"No you couldn't."

"Fine. Anything else?"

"You were also wrong about "My life doesn't need any fixing""

"That wasn't fixing. That was a… a ridiculously big improvement." After a few seconds Sherlock sighed and smiled. "Fine. Thank you."

"I'll take it he won't have to sleep on the sofa anymore, then."

"No."

Hamish was about to say something, but John walked in in that moment.

"G'morning." John said still itching his eyes.

"Good morning!" Hamish replied. "Found somewhere more comfortable than the sofa to sleep?"

"Piss off." John walked to the kitchen to make himself some tea.

"John, I just want to say I'm sorry about the whole deducing your date thing last night. I only did that because I knew that if you got upset, dad would efeel bad about it and would apologize, and there was a bigger chance all this happened."

"So you're saying this was your plan?"

"Yep!" He said proudly.

"Look at that, Sherlock." He gestured towards the kid. "We got parent-trapped."

"Sorry." Hamish said, but truly, he wasn't

"Don't mention it. It's all fine now."

And it was. It was all fine, indeed. For now.


	8. Chapter VII

**A Cup of Tea With the Devil**

Sherlock pretended he wasn't a bit impressed by Jim Moriarty's speech, but honestly he was more annoyed that he was sitting on _his_ chair, instead of John's.

"Never liked riddles." Sherlock stood up and buttoned his coat.

"Learn to." Jim mimicked his action. "Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock." Sherlock's eyes were locked in Jim's, and he refused to move. "I. Owe. You."

As Jim was about to leave the room, a childish voice came from upstairs. "Dad!" Hamish ran down the stairs, with a book in his hand. "Dad, I just finished this book, it's ama-" Hamish dropped the book on the floor as he saw Moriarty standing there.

"Oh, hi!" Jim smiled in a rather charismatic way. "I didn't expect to meet junior today, what a pleasent surprise." He walked up to hamish and offered his hand for him to shake. "Jim Moriarty. Nice to meet you."

"Hamish Holmes." Hamish shook his hand with squinted eyes. "Why are you here? Dad, why did you let him in?"

"Oh look at that. He's adorable, Sherlock, looks just like you, look at those cheekbones." Jim pinched Hamish's cheeks, and the boy responded by slapping his hand.

"Don't touch me." He hissed.

"Oh, please, don't be rude. Rude doesn't suit you, you're adorable."

"I'm really not." Hamish crossed his arms. Sherlock smirked and nodded at him.

"He has your eyes, Sherlock. Who's the proud mother?"

"Dead." Hamish lifted his chin to look up directly at Moriarty. "He didn't know her."  
"Didn't know her? Wow, Sherlock, I didn't expect you to be the "Hit it and quit it" kind of guy. You're naughtier than I thought, I'm starting to wish you would've called me when we met and left you my number." He winked and smirked at the detective.

"I'm not." Sherlock sat down again, taking in his hands the "I O U" apple that Jim left by the table.

"I'm sure your mother was lovely, Hamish. I'm sorry to hear-"

"She really wasn't." Hamish picked up the book from the floor and swiped the dust out of it with his fingers.

"I bet Sherlock doesn't even know her name. What a douche, huh?"

"Jane." Sherlock replied quickly, before Jim could say anything else, which could have been disastrous.

"Hm, you remember it. I thought you only remembered the important things. Don't tell me there's still emotional linking between you and that who-"

"Shut your mouth." Hamish interrupted. "My mom wasn't the brightest, prettiest, or the kindest person in the world, but don't you dare call her that."

"Or what?" Jim knelt down in front of Hamish, to get on his height, which made it easier for Hamish to attack him. He dropped the book again and jumped on Jim with fury in his eyes, and his hands aimed directly for the neck. With little struggle, Jim managed to stand up, holding Hamish by the collar of his t-shirt.

"I just. Bought. This suit." He squinted at the boy and gently put him back on the ground.

"Well you need to sort out your priorities, huh?" Hamish picked up the book again and left it on John's armchair.

"Sherlock, your kid just presented hostile behaviour. I believe you should get a therapist, he could have killed me with those little hands."

"I _Should_ have killed you." Hamish glared at him. "And I bet no one would stop me if I tried."

Sherlock nodded. "At least I wouldn't." He shrugged, and Hamish walked up to him. Sherlock picked Hamish up and held him in his arms. The boy hugged his father back, but still looking at Jim with rage.

"Awh, look at that. Sherlock, you must be such a good father, it would be a shame if something happened to your son, huh?"

"Don't you dare to lay a finger on him. I could pay seven bodyguards to take care of him if it was needed, and I will, every single day, and I'll keep doing it untill we get rid of you."

"We? Oh, Sherlock, how stupid of you to say that. There is no "we." in this. The final problem is you and me, only." Jim walked towards the door. "I should get going."

Hamish nodded at him. "Yeah, you should."

Jim shook Sherlock's hand again and left. Hamish jumped back on the floor. "Christ, what a douche." He giggled, to hide that he was quite scared of the consulting criminal.

"Indeed he is." Sherlock gave half a smile.

"Did he actually give you his number the first time you met?" Hamish laughed.

"He did. But when we met I didn't know he was _the_ Jim Moriarty. If I knew, I would've kept his number, it would be a good way to track him down."

"Huh." He nodded. The idea that there's an organization focused only to ruin his father's life gave him the chills. The boy had barely got there and he knew that he would be lost without Sherlock, as would John and pretty much the whole country. "Dad?"

"What?" He knelt to get on Hamish's height. Honestly, the little boy hated when people did that, but he didn't mind when Sherlock did it, after all, he _was_ too tall.

"You're not going to die, are you? I mean, you're not gonna let Moriarty do this to us." As much as Sherlock knew the truth, he just couldn't see Hamish's face if he told it, and the wish to be a superhero to his son was enough to make him lie. Instead, he faked a smile and ruffled Hamish's hair.

"What? No, of course not. Don't worry about that, we're going to sort it out."

"You could ask me for help!" He opened a big smile.

"Yeah..." He realized how much of a weight it must be for a kid to live like that. "But don't worry, okay? Do you want some tea?" He changed the subject.

"I wonder how much money you spend on tea, honestly, you and John drink so much tea I'm starting to wonder if that's healthy." He smiled and Sherlock laughed with him. As anyone who was involved with the whole story, they both wished this never ended.


	9. Chapter VIII

**Something is going to happen.**

Author's note: Months go by and our Reichenbach hero becomes, in the minds of those who want to believe, the Reichenbach villain. With journalists stalking the family, and "Richard Brook" convincing everyone that the great detective was a fake, one musts understand that nothing lasts forever.

* * *

John, we need to talk. SH

15:09

Alright, tell me. JW

15:10

Something tells me that this is

not the kind of thing you tell by

text. SH

15:10

Is everything okay? What did

Hamish do this time? JW

15:11

No, it wasn't Hamish or anything like

that. There's just something we need

to talk about. SH

15:13

Now I'm worried. Alright, I'll be home

in a few minutes. JW

15:14

Thank you. SH

15:15

"Alright, I'm home, what is it?" John walked into the flat, to find Sherlock laying on the sofa.

"Sit down."

"I'm getting even more worried." John said, sitting on the armchair. Though he _knew _what was coming, somehow he was worried about it.

"Don't be."

"Just tell me what is it already."

"Alright. Look, John, erm… there's no easy way to put this. I-uh… I don't think we should be together… together _"together" _anymore."

"Wait- what? Why?"

"Because… Look, I don't know how to explain that. It just can't happen anymore, it won't last anyway. I'm sorry."

"Are you saying you don't..."

"No, I do, I really do, but there's too much happening. The whole Jim Moriarty thing, people stalking us, stalking Hamish, and by the way, do you see Hamish's grades at school? He said he can't study because people don't leave him alone. Also there's people convinced that it is not safe for him to be with me, they're trying to take Hamish away from me- from us."

"Alright. I understand. Do you think we'll be together again sometime?"

"Yes, of course."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

(Three days later)

It's about time I get a phone

of my own, huh? HH

17:00

John thinks you're too young to

have that much tecnology in

your hands. SH

17:02

And you should stop using his

phone. Does he know you're

doing that? SH

17:02

But I'm bored!

And yes, I think he does. HH

17:03

If he cared he would start hiding

his phone. I still see no problem

with you having a phone. SH

17:05

Oh, well. Changing the subject,

John said you've been acting weird

these times. Mind if I ask why? HH

17:05

Oh, it must be because there's

a guy trying to ruin my life. No big

deal. SH

17:06

Not that kind of weird. Not nervous,

stressed kind of weird. Distant, aloof

kind of weird. HH

17:08

What do you mean? SH

17:09

You know what I mean. I'm not

stupid. I woke up in the morning

today and you know what I found?

John, sleeping on the sofa. HH

17:09

Where John sleeps is none of your

business. SH

17:10

I hate when you do that. HH

17:12

And I hate when there's a kid

meddling on mine and John's

life. SH

17:12

Touché. HH

17:13

You broke up with him, didn't you? HH

17:13

Oops, John saw me with his phone.

Gotta go. HH

17:13

Of course he did. I'll be home

soon, I had to drop by the

lab to get something. SH

17:15

And again, it's none of your

business. SH

17:16

"So… Hamish, your birthday's coming up. Anything in mind?" It was just after dinner and John was sitting on his armchair, as always, and Sherlock was sitting in his, as it should be, and Hamish lying on the sofa, of course, with a book in his hands.

"Not really, I don't care about birthdays."

"Most kids want parties."

"I'm not most kids. Plus, who'd I invite? Certainly not anyone at school, since they all think my dad is a serial killer. Half of the kids there pity me, and the others are scared of me. Yet they don't pity me or fear me enough to come to a birthday party at the house of a serial killer." One thing that John found annoying about Hamish is how cold he was sometimes. He talked exactly what was happening, but without the feelings. It's like he wasn't upset about not having friends. He talked about what makes someone suffer like it was nothing important, and it made John a little confused, not knowing how to respond.

"Look, Hamish, we're sorry. But, uhm, we could do something on your birthday. We could go somewhere you'd like, eat some cake, you know, just to forget about everything that's going on."

"Can we go to the movies?"

"You like movies?"

"I love them. Can we?"

"Sure thing. And what would you want as a present?"

"A book, would be good. I read almost everything that seemed interesting in dad's shelf, and some of the books that didn't seem interesting at all, by the way, he has an awful lot of books about bees. Weird." Hamish said and looked at the bookshelf, noticing the books were out of order. Not "Someone took a book and put it back in another place" out of order. It was "Someone is taking a lot of books at the same time and reorganizing them" out of order. But he didn't pay much attention.

"Alright, a book, then." John smiled and looked at Sherlock, who was just picking up his violin to play something. "Anything in mind?"

"Uh… No. But I like the stories with magical creatures, and knights, kings, queens, things like that."

"Alright, I'll find something nice. Also, Hamish, I'll take a shower and when I come back, you'll have to leave the sofa, I'm sleeping there tonight."

"But you slept here last night too. And the night before that."

"Well, yes."

"There's something happening."

"Just please do as I say."

"Okay." Hamish nodded and John left the living room. Sherlock was playing something on the violin, but as soon as John left, he stopped.

"You broke up, didn't you?" Hamish asked, without lifting his eyes from the book. Sherlock didn't answer.

"You did. I know you did. Why?" He said, and Sherlock started playing the violin again.

"Dad, I know that you did. I just don't see why. It was all going fine. There would be no good reason for you to do that. No, this has to do with Jim Moriarty."

"Go to your room." He said and put the violin down again.

"It has to do with Jim. I know that. And it's not because there's too much pressure on you, no, it's something else. But you didn't want to break up with John. You don't want to hurt him. You did that for a reason, you did that not to hurt him. But how could that prevent you from hurting him?" He took a deep breath. "Jim knows. He knows about you two, and he's using that. That's why. But breaking up with him wouldn't make things better. You're doing that to prevent from hurting him furthermore, something is going to happen. Something big is going to happen, and I'm worried."

"I said…" Sherlock looked at Hamish with rage. "Go to your room. Goodnight."

"You're planning something. Also, you're reorganizing your bookshelf."

"Yes, I said I would do that, since you read all of my books and leave them around the house."

"No, you didn't put only the books I read back. You took all of the books out, and then put them back again. And you did that when you were home alone, while I was in school and John at work, and you should be at the lab or Scotland Yard. Something is going to happen. Did you find out why he kidnapped Mrs. Hudson?"

"I SAID GO TO YOUR ROOM!" Sherlock shouted, and from Hamish's angle, he couldn't see Sherlock was tearing up. Hamish did obey him and run to his room, angry. And that was last time they talked.


	10. Chapter IX

**You can't do that to us.**

"Goodbye, John." Said the voice at the phone, and it was the last thing John heard from him.

"No. Don't. SHERLOCK!" He shouted and it was the last thing John said to him, but it was too late. Sherlock was falling off the hospital's rooftop and was past helping. By the time John could run to him, his body was already on the ground, bloody and still. John's hand reached for Sherlock's wrist, and he felt no pulse.

John walked into the flat like a storm, crying, and kicking anything on his way "YOU HAVE A KID, YOU BASTARD!" He shouted to the skies and threw himself on the sofa. "YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME, TO US." John cried out again, and then he was silent.

"Dad? John?" Hamish came from his room, with inocence in his eyes. "John, where's dad? What happened?" in that moment, whatever was left of John fell apart. He stood up and, with barely enough strength to do that, he walked up to Hamish and knelt down.

"Hamish, Sherlock-" He took a deep breath and tried to speak. "Sherlock threw himself off Saint Bart's Hospital. He's-" His voice was weak and his whole body was trembling, as if about to crumble down. "Dead." It took a few seconds for Hamish to realise this was happening, and so he hugged John and cried, and cry they did, for some minutes, untill there were no more tears to spill, for now, and Hamish could think again.

"But- Why? It doesn't make any sense." Hamish said without thinking, and once he thought, the only thing he could say was "Oh."

"Oh?"

"No, it does make sense. It makes complete sense. Not enough sense to make me thing he would do it, but now… it all matches." There were still tears on his face and his voice was breaking, and it was hard to talk. But he had to think, it was all he had. "Did he leave a note?"

"What?"

"A note. He wouldn't go without at least letting us know."

"Well, he called me when he was already on the rooftop. He made me see him jump. That is, after admitting-" John took a deep breath and looked up, as if to avoid the tears to flow down. "Admitting he is- was a fake." He finished his sentence, with his eyes closed.

"But he isn't!"

"I know."

"Then why would he-"

"I don't know." There was a few seconds of silence after that, and it was like even if they were sure he was dead, it was hard to believe. A shock so big they couldn't just accept, and it would take hours, days, weeks to really feel like he was gone. But for now, words weren't necessary. Hamish held his tears a little more, and ran to his room. John heard him slamming the door, and decided that it was the best idea to leave him alone, also because he, too, wanted to be alone. No, he didn't want to be alodne. He wanted to be with Sherlock. He wanted to solve a case with him, then call him a genius, and not hear a "thank you" about it. He wanted to see again, everybody pissed off because of him, because he is- sorry, was, unbelievable. So unbelievable that in the end, nobody actually believed him. He wanted to share the bed with him again, and he wanted to be the first person to say "good morning" to him, and the last one to say "good night", and he wanted to never leave his side, or Hamish's, because they were, even if quite complicated, quite uncommon, and even if just for a few months, a family. But now these days were over and John wasn't "John and Sherlock" and Hamish wasn't "Hamish and his dad". John was just John, not the badass sidekick, but the traumatized army doctor. And Hamish was just Hamish, not the greatest detective ever's kid, but the scared kid with a dead mom and the only dad he had in his life. And man, did that hurt, and it was just the start of it. They knew that for the rest of their life now, they would have to make do with what they had, which at this point was just the flat and John's job, and whatever was left of Sherlock. They knew they wouldn't wake up with the sound of Sherlock shooting the walls in the middle of the night,

(The Funeral)

Not everyone that John expected was there at the funeral. Not Mycroft, or his parents were there. How can you not attend to the funeral of your own son? Terrible. There were only a few people there, and not close enough to Sherlock to have him calling them friends, but certainly people who cared about him or felt obligated to go. Lestrade, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Hamish, obviously, and unexpectedly, Anderson and Donovan.

"You did this to him." Hamish said to Anderson, looking at him through the tears.

"What?" Anderson asked, still facing the closed casket, where no one could see Sherlock's face."

"You. You and Sally, you did this. You were convinced that he was a fake, since the beginning, and now he's dead. You killed him." Hamish cried, and sobbed. It was even hard to understand what he was saying, his voice sounded like his lungs were filled with tears. John was by his side and pulled him away from Anderson.  
"Hamish, not now. This isn't the time to blame anyone. It wasn't his fault." John tried to be reasonable, but to be honest he agreed with him.

Anderson decided to ignore the conversation, and turned around to leave the room. The little boy jumped on Anderson, attacking him, and with much struggle John could hold him away. "Hamish! Stop this, not here, not now, please!" He shouted, and the whole room looked at them. For a small kid like Hamish, it was hard to hold him, and John was sure that if he didn't, the boy would've been capable of killing Anderson. Not that it wasn't a good idea, but come on, one funeral at a time.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" Hamish screamed and cried to Anderson, flouncing, making an effort to get himself out of John's arms. The boy who was always so quiet, (when not happy) for this moment, was a mindless beast. It took John _and_ Lestrade to hold Hamish back, even if for a minute, untill he (not so much) calmed down. He wasn't frustrated by his father's death, he was angry. On his eyes, it was murder, and it had to be avenged.

"He wasn't a fake. He was real, and he was amazing. He never killed anyone, he never would. He saved my life at least twice. He was busy fighting the people that didn't believe him, busy fighting Moriarty, fighting the Moriarty inside everyone around him, and even himself, and still he had time to be my father, and he was good at it. Every single day, he would get me after school, and he would talk to me, and ask about my da. He would never fool me, or John."

"Hamish, you have to understand that sometimes people lie. I know it's hard for you, but the sooner you get that, the better." Donovan raised her eyebrows. Hamish glared at her with rage.

"If you were as half as smart as he is- sorry, was, you would know that he wasn't lying." Hamish sobbed so much he got the hiccups, and couldn't stop, couldn't speak anymore, couldn't do anything. In a few minutes, the boy was sitting at the corner of the room, shaking, sobbing.

"You two have no bloody idea how to deal with a child, do you?" John looked at Anderson and Donovan. "Look at him. You must be so proud."

"What? We didn't do anything." Sally crossed her arms.

"Yes. Yes you did. You killed Sherlock Holmes."

Anderson and Donovan left the room without a word.

Hamish didn't go to school the next day. Or the next after that, and the one after that. Actually, he skipped school for a week after the incident. People (teachers) started getting worried, but there wasn't much to do, since the "emergency" number for Hamish registered at the school was either his old babysitter's, or his mom's. Hamish didn't wind up the clocks anymore, or read any book. The sixteen clocks and watches in his room were, one by one, stopping and unsyncing, but it didn't matter, because it didn't matter what time it was. It didn't matter if it was 09:00, 17:00, or 12:00, Hamish was, sleeping, or awake, but laying on his bed, doing absolutely nothing. He couldn't even read anymore, anything at all. And his teachers weren't the only ones worried. John knocked on his door at least five times a day, offering food, tea, or asking if he wanted to talk. Of course his answer was no to everything, except when John convinced him to eat, which was, at least once a day. "You have to eat." John says, but little did it matter for the broken machine lying on the bed. And he bet John cared little too, because if it wasn't for Hamish, John wouldn't get out of bed either. But he needed to work, and he needed to take care of his almost son, and he needed to pretend it was all fine, though it wasn't. It wasn't fine, it was just over. Jim Moriarty was just as dead as Sherlock, and Hamish wasn't in danger anymore, and neither was John. That wasn't the happy ending they had in mind for the fairy tale, but the villain was dead. And so was the knight in a shiny armour. And the loyal squires were dead inside, and the kingdom fell. Sir Boast-a-lot had no princess, but he left prince charming, alone, broken.

Nine days since Sherlock was gone, and Hamish was laying on his bed, when John knocked on the door.

"Hamish… it's your birthday today,"

"Is it?" He answered getting up from his bed and opening his door.

"Yes. I was wondering if you'd still want to go to the movies for your birthday."

"No, thank you."

"Yes, I was expecting this answer. Listen…" John's handed Hamish a small package, carefully wrapped and with a small bow on top of it. "I bought you this. I thought you would like it. Happy birthday." Wishing happy birthday in that situation was almost ironic, but nonetheless Hamish took the package in his hand and opened it. It was a book, "The Hobbit".

"Thank you, John." Hamish almost smiled, and hugged him tight. "Thank you so much." Hamish loved that even with all the grief and sadness, John found time to remember his birthday and buy him something nice. John didn't take care of Hamish because he had to, he took care of him because he cared about him. Cared more than Sherlock, maybe, and more than Mycroft, obviously, more than Sherlock's parents, which Hamish had found out that weren't so bad, but there was something wrong about that father. Cared more than his friends, cared more than his teachers. Most kids compared their fathers to superheroes, but superheroes never die, right? The only hero left was John, the war hero, and now, as much as he could, a father.

THE END


End file.
